The Back by Midnight Affair
by Calatrice
Summary: A fairy tale. Cinder-Illya.
1. Part I Left Behind

Part I - Left Behind...

Illya was in the office putting the finishing touches to yet another report when Napoleon sauntered in, resplendent in a crisp white shirt and bow tie, with a Tuxedo slung over his shoulder.

"Which secretary is it tonight?" Illya enquired.

"It just so happens that I have an assignment this evening." Napoleon replied, carefully adjusting a cufflink. "Mr Waverly has asked me to entertain a young woman on behalf of U.N.C.L.E."

"Who is she?" Illya asked curiously. "It's hardly normal for Mr Waverly to assign an enforcement agent to entertain a V.I.P."

"A Dr Maria Kendall" Napoleon replied. "Apparently Thrush has been sniffing around her. She mentioned their approaches to the Dean of her college and he asked Waverly to look out for her. The old man thinks that maybe a bit of overt attention from us will make Thrush look elsewhere."

Illya's eyes lit up. "I've read some of her papers on Quantum Mechanics. She has a truly remarkable mind."

"Great. Looks like I'm in for a fascinating evening." said Napoleon.

A woman with a remarkable mind for Quantum Mechanics did not sound like his idea of a good time. He'd had to stand up Sadie from Records for this little soiree as well. It had taken a couple of weeks to persuade her to go on another date, after that last time. Still, he mused, maybe after she'd spent a hard day at calculations or whatever, he could persuade this lady to live a little.

"I could go instead, if you like." Illya suggested hopefully. "I'd be interested to discuss some of her theories."

"Last week I asked you to go out to a restaurant with that nice girl from Finance and you said you didn't enjoy that kind of thing!"

"The only reason you asked was that her friend wouldn't go out on a date with you on her own! Besides, you can hardly compare an evening of serious scientific conversation with your usual dating techniques."

"Nothing doing. If you won't co-operate when I really need you, then I think I should face this assignment alone. If she reveals the secret laws of the cosmos, I'll be sure and let you know." Napoleon put on his jacket, smoothed the sleeves carefully and left.

Illya leaned back and cast a mournful gaze over the heaps of paperwork on his desk. A physics journal lay half-buried by a stack of expense claims that had been returned by Mr Waverly with a request for clarification. It included one of Dr Kendall's latest papers and he'd even made notes on it, hoping to sneak down to the lab and discuss them with some of the techs. She was wasted on Napoleon!

Sighing deeply, he returned to the report he'd been writing. The old man was on another economy drive; sometimes he seemed more interested in how suits were torn and fenders crumpled than in how much damage had been done to the opposition. On the other hand, '1 Secret Chemical Weapons Installation (with contents), 10 Guards (with equipment, assorted), 3 Jeeps and 1 ICBM (stolen)" would look even worse on the form for Thrush Central. Thrush Accounts probably sent back something a bit harsher than a rude note too.

The last part of the report was tricky; in all the excitement and confusion, it had been a perfectly reasonable mistake to forget about the river. They had, after all, saved all the documents and equipment that they'd recovered from the Thrush lab. It was just a pity about all that U.N.C.L.E. equipment that had been washed away. And Napoleon's suit and shoes of course - those muddy water marks were never going to come out.


	2. Part II You Shall Go

Part II - You Shall Go...

The door slid open and Illya glanced up in surprise.

"Good evening Mr Wisheart" he said politely. The janitor grinned amiably back at him. Mr Wisheart was, officially, the oldest member of HQ staff (no one ever dared question Mr Waverly's eligibility for the title). A wiry veteran of both World Wars, very few events in the steel-lined corridors seemed to escape his sharp grey eyes.

"You're working in here tonight Mr Kuryakin? I thought you'd have gone with Napoleon to keep that lady scientist safe." Clearly Mr Wisheart was on top form.

Illya shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I had a lot of paperwork to get through, so Napoleon, um, decided to go alone."

Mr Wisheart looked at him sympathetically. He liked Illya. Okay, the guy was quiet, very quiet, but he was polite and considerate, the sort who always held the elevator and wiped his feet. These qualities were worth encouraging, if you were the one who had to polish the floors.

"You could catch 'em up, no trouble. They'll barely have started yet." It was time the poor guy had some fun. Always so pale; you could hardly believe the old man let him see the sun.

"I'm afraid I haven't any idea where they've gone for the evening." Illya responded.

"It's that little Italian, you know, the one he takes all the girls to lately."

"Oh... Just a moment, how do you know where Napoleon takes his dates?"

Mr Wisheart grinned, wickedly. "Those girls ain't stupid you know. They like to compare notes. And sometimes they appreciate a little fatherly advice."

Illya's eyebrows rose. The kind of girl Napoleon liked to date was well past the point where 'fatherly advice' was going to do any good, surely. He realised that Mr Wisheart was still looking at him expectantly.

"I'm afraid I don't have a jacket to wear. My last one didn't survive our trip to London. So I can't go in any case." Napoleon had told him to replace that jacket, but it had never seemed urgent.

"Stay right there!" Mr Wisheart vanished through the door, leaving Illya bemused. After a couple of minutes the janitor was back, clutching a dinner jacket and shirt, hung neatly on a hanger.

"There's a tie in the pocket and everything. It ought to be just your size."

"But where did it come from?"

"Mr Le Brun in Section Three has a trip to Paris scheduled for early tomorrow morning. He asked me to pick it up from Del and leave it in his office. He'll swing by to collect it about twelve thirty, so as long as you bring it back by midnight he'll never know. He's pretty much your size."

Illya thought for a moment about the likely reaction of Dominic Le Brun to this little scheme. The courier was not his favourite colleague by a long stretch. Apart from his immaculate tailoring his main distinguishing feature was his temper, always unleashed at his full (extremely impressive) volume, but only on his cringing junior staff. Temptation fought briefly with Illya's natural reluctance to risk a pointless public confrontation. Prudence lost and Illya stretched out a hand to take the hanger.

"Thank you" he said. "I'll be sure and bring it back in plenty of time."


	3. Part III Dinner and Quantum Mechanics

Part III - Dinner and... Quantum Mechanics

As he took his seat at a discreet table in his favourite restaurant, Napoleon was feeling restless. Dr Kendall had turned out to be a pretty, slightly tomboyish redhead, with large green eyes and a dry sense of humour. They had talked politely in the car when he picked her up. They made smalltalk over drinks, while the table was prepared. She had been attentive and amusing, while making it perfectly clear that she would much rather be somewhere else. Napoleon was starting to agree with her.

Maria tapped her fork sharply on the table. Damn! Not only had he not heard a word she'd been saying for the last couple of minutes, but she'd noticed his wandering attention.

"Mr Solo, I really don't see why I should participate in this farce. I have no intention of joining this bunch of power-crazed lunatics!"

Napoleon scrambled to retrieve the situation.

"Thrush tend to resort to coercion when they can't get you to volunteer, Dr Kendall. We just want to keep you safe, that's all."

"So I'm going to be followed around for the rest of my life? Panic buttons, blind dates with trained killers? How do I make it stop?"

Napoleon winced at the "trained killers" comment, but was relieved that she was keeping her voice down. He shouldn't have let her drink that martini. The depressant effect of the alcohol was cracking her self-control.

"Oh Napoleon isn't that bad once you get to know him," said a familiar voice. "Most of his girlfriends leave their panic button behind after the first five or six dates."

Napoleon glared up at Illya, who had managed to keep his usual straight face.

"Dr Kendall, this is my partner Illya Kuryakin. Illya, Dr Kendall."

Illya shook hands with Maria and sat down as a waiter bustled up.

"Will the gentleman be joining you Mr Solo?"

"Yes, another place please." Napoleon said resignedly and watched as Illya was equipped with cutlery, napkin and wine glasses.

Maria had been studying Illya's face, with a puzzled expression. "I know this may sound odd" she said, "But did you study at Cambridge? You remind me of someone I once met."

"Yes I did. Quantum mechanics in fact, I did my PhD under Professor Salter."

She giggled. "I knew it! You probably don't remember, but I was one of a party of college girls who visited Cambridge one summer on an exchange trip."

Illya looked uncomfortable. "How could I have forgotten?" he muttered.

"Really?" Napoleon said, an evil grin spreading over his face. "I hope Illya made you all feel welcome."

"Actually, I'm afraid we made terrible nuisances of ourselves. Especially Betty Crane..."

Illya winced. A quick glance at Napoleon confirmed that his partner was enjoying this immensely.

"And just what did Miss Crane get up to?"

Illya looked at Maria beseechingly, but to no avail.

"Oh, she had a terrible crush on Illya. She followed him everywhere."

"She would have made a great insurance saleswoman." Illya said. "I've met Thrush interrogators who were less persistent."

This evening is definitely looking up thought Napoleon, hugely amused at the image of an irate Illya being relentlessly tailed by a love-struck teenager. His arrival seemed to have taken Maria's mind off her troubles too.

"Do you still take an interest in Physics? You seem to have made quite a career change since we last met."

"The U.N.C.L.E. research department subscribes to all the major journals, so I get the chance to stay up to date. I read them whenever I am, um, resting."

"I suppose you have to 'rest' quite a lot in a profession like yours." said Maria, clearly not fooled by Illya's circumspect mention of the times he spent in the infirmary.

"Sometimes. I try to keep busy though."

Illya decided to change the subject.

"I was really fascinated by your last paper in "Reviews of Modern Physics". I thought your description of attempts to find a solution for the three body problem was superb."

Any second now one of them is going to produce a pen and start writing formulas on a napkin, thought Napoleon ruefully. Sure enough, in less than a minute biros were fished out and the two of them were scribbling busily, the red head and the blonde bent intently over a jumble of hideous-looking equations. Still, the proprietor's two daughters were waiting tables tonight. With them to contemplate, the evening would not be without its compensations.

Napoleon coaxed his companions into actually ordering dinner from the bemused waiter, but aside from that, he didn't hear a single intelligible thing from either of them for the first two courses. Finally, after the waiter had cleared the plates away for the second time, Maria excused herself.

"So this is your idea of a date then Illya? I think I prefer the old-fashioned kind myself."

Illya grinned.

"It's wonderful! I haven't had a chance for a talk like this since I left Cambridge."

"Illya, listen to me. You have just spent an hour talking to a beautiful woman in an extremely expensive restaurant, for which you are not paying, I might add. Fine food, excellent wine, and candlelight to watch her by. She has a lovely dress, you have clearly stolen someone's tuxedo. There is even a full moon outside. Why do you care about her equations?"

"Because her mathematics is so beautiful!"

Napoleon shook his head, helplessly.

"U.N.C.L.E. - I give up."

Illya smiled, his blue eyes dancing with fun at having driven his friend to surrender the point. Napoleon laughed back at him, treasuring the look of unguarded pleasure on the Russian's normally sombre face.

When the smile vanished, Napoleon snapped from relaxed to alert in a heartbeat. Illya was seated facing the back of the restaurant, his steely gaze fixed on some threat behind Napoleon.

Napoleon turned slowly and saw the drooping figure of Maria, being led solicitously out of the ladies' room by a young woman he hadn't noticed before. It looked as though Waverly had underestimated Thrush's level of interest in Dr Kendall.

"I'm afraid Maria is feeling unwell Mr Solo. I think we should take her home." said the Thrush girl with a small, triumphant smile.

Maria looked flushed and feverish, her eyes unfocussed. Whatever she had been given, it worked fast. Napoleon glanced at the hand on Maria's arm - the Thrush girl's finger was tipped with a device like a thimble, which had a small needle on the end. No telling what the drug on there would do, if he put up any resistance. Under her careful scrutiny, he summoned a waiter, who was most sympathetic at such a premature end to a favourite customer's evening. Once the bill had been settled, the four of them left the restaurant, where a couple of large men handed them into a waiting black van.  



	4. Part IV The Spell is Broken

Part IV - The Spell is Broken

Napoleon came to slowly. The pretty Thrush had darted him with another of her concoctions as soon as the van door had closed. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dimly-lit basement, which had obviously been hastily converted for its new role as a cell. He was lying on his side on the gritty concrete floor. Whoever had tied him up had clearly paid careful attention on the "How to restrain a prisoner in your hideout" course - as well as being tied tightly at ankles, knees and wrists, his thumbs had been taped together. He could free himself, given enough uninterrupted time to work on the tape and ropes, but it seemed unlikely that he would be left in an obviously temporary holding area for long enough.

Solo heard a curse from Illya, who sounded as though he was lying a couple of feet behind him, presumably tied up in similar fashion. Muffled sobs were coming from a little further off. By wriggling and craning his neck, Napoleon managed to twist round until he could see the stout wooden door of an inner storeroom, which was being used to hold the Thrushes' most valuable prisoner.

Napoleon wriggled even more energetically, until he was facing his partner. "Talk to her!" he whispered. "If she's not tied up, maybe she can help us get out of this."

"Why me? Damsels in distress are your speciality."

"She likes you better. Think of her beautiful equations."

Illya grinned for a second.

"Maria, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

The sobbing stopped. "That is a really stupid question."

"I mean are you hurt?"

"No. I felt awfully dizzy for a while, but it's worn off now."

"Are your hands tied?"

"No, they just shoved me in here and locked the door."

"They tied us most efficiently, so I'm afraid you're going to have to help us."

"I would, but there's this locked door. Did I forget to mention it?" Maria's voice was starting to show the breathy signs of an imminent panic attack.

"Maria, that lock looks like a simple one to me." said Napoleon. "If you can find something to use as a tool, I'm sure we can talk you through how to open it."

"I'm not very good at things like that - it's why I study theoretical physics."

"You'll be fine. Now, you need to find a fairly stiff piece of metal, a couple of inches long. Have a look at that belt you were wearing..."

Illya squirmed into a marginally more comfortable position and listened to his partner giving a nice young woman her first lesson in the subtle art of picking a lock. Napoleon's ability to convince perfectly ordinary people that they could do extraordinary things was the skill that had taken him to the top of the Enforcement section so quickly. Napoleon's voice was calm, encouraging and patient as he talked Dr Kendall through the task of lifting each pin to the correct position and then rotating the cylinder to draw back the bolt. After about twenty minutes Maria emerged, looking triumphant.


	5. Part V The Slipper

Part V - The Slipper

"What do we do now?" she asked, as soon as she had untied the U.N.C.L.E. agents.

"We escape." replied Illya blandly. "Did you have anything else in mind?"

"Well, I don't know, I thought maybe you had to blow the place up or something - like in the movies."

"I'll just settle for getting you away from here. Besides, I forgot my exploding shoe heels."

Napoleon had been prowling around the basement and had stopped below a small, dirty window about seven feet off the ground, which was protected by a rusty grid.

"Illya, if I give you a hand, can you check this window? Maybe we can loosen the bars."

"Can't we open the door?" asked Maria, looking dubiously at the window, which sported a collection of cobwebs that would do a horror movie proud.

"Well the door has a much better lock on it, but we could get through. The problem is we have no weapons and no idea of what, or who, is on the other side." Napoleon replied, as he knelt down to let Illya climb on his shoulders. Once his partner was in place, he stood, giving the Russian a chance to look closely at the window.

"Can you hurry up? I'm sure you're heavier than the last time we tried this."

Illya completed his inspection and jumped down. "The bars are quite sound, but the damp has weakened the bricks and mortar. We should be able to yank the whole grid out pretty easily, but it might be noisy."

"No noise. It's going to be a tight fit and we won't all make it if the guards come to check on us. Can we just scrape the mortar away gradually?"

"With what? I don't think they're going to leave us in here all night."

"How about this?" said Maria, holding out one of her shoes. It was, Illya reflected, one of the silliest shoes a woman could possibly wear: a slingback with a painful-looking pointed toe and an even more painful looking 4" stiletto heel. He took the shoe and examined it. The heel was thin enough to fit between the bricks and was tipped with a steel cap.

"This should work quite well. I'll try it."

He turned round and looked expectantly at Napoleon.

Napoleon sighed and knelt so that Illya could stand on his shoulders again.

The heel made quick work of the crumbling mortar, but was hard to manipulate. Illya was forced to bend his head and hunch his shoulders because the ceiling was not high enough to accommodate the combined height of him and Napoleon. The muscles in his arms and back were trembling with fatigue by the time he had freed all the anchor points of the grid.

"Napoleon, I'm going to pull the bars free, you'll need to brace yourself."

The rusty metal scraped free along with a cascade of mortar dust and chips of brick. Illya stepped off Napoleons' shoulders when he was lowered to the floor and saw his partner's aggrieved and dusty face.

"Next time, I get to be the guy at the window."

"Fine. I'll lift you up and you can clear away the cobwebs and force it open."

"Why do I have to clean it? I'm not planning on sticking around."

A spider, probably disturbed by Illya's recent excavations had scuttled down the wall. Illya inclined his head slightly, directing Napoleon's attention toward Dr Kendall. She was staring at the spider with a look of complete, unreasoning, horror.

"I get your point. Maria, I'm going to clear everything away and open the window now. We just need you to be brave for a bit longer."

Maria backed slowly away to the other side of the room, her eyes still fixed on the spider, as if she were convinced it was about to give chase. After casting about for a couple of moments, Napoleon unearthed a bundle of stiff, grimy rags from a corner. Climbing on his partner's back he swiped the rags vigorously across the window, sweeping away the cobwebs and sending an astonishing variety of outraged arachnids scuttling for cover. Finally, with a screech of protest from the rusty hinges that seemed loud enough to rouse the street, he managed to shove the window open.

Napoleon grasped the outer edges of the window and managed to wriggle his shoulders through. For a horrible moment he thought he was stuck, unable to get enough leverage on outside of the wall to push through further, but with no purchase for his feet. A helpful shove from below sent him slithering out into the alley.

As alleys went, Napoleon's first impression was that it wasn't a bad specimen. There was a certain amount of refuse, and almost certainly a healthy population of rodents. On the other hand, the great thing that this alley had going for it, at present anyway, was a complete absence of Thrushes.

He turned round and stuck his arms back through the window to haul Maria through. She seemed reluctant to risk the spiders' old haunt, but Illya whispered something which made her positively enthusiastic to get out, though she looked more scared than ever.

A second later, Illya followed, managing somehow to slip gracefully through the window without needing any help at all.

"Show off" muttered Napoleon.

Illya just grinned, then bent and fitted the now hopelessly battered shoe back onto Maria's foot.

"The heel still seems firmly attached, so it should be all right."

They set off along the alley, Napoleon in front, Illya behind, with Maria between them.

"All right! This was my one pair of dress shoes! They've lasted me since I was in high school. Do you know how boring it is buying these things?"

She's definitely Illya's type more than mine thought Napoleon, as they emerged onto a street.  
  
Within fifteen minutes of making their call from a payphone, they were safely in an U.N.C.L.E. car on their way back to headquarters. Napoleon noticed Illya looking nervously at his watch.

"Urgent appointment?"

The Russian looked back at him, seeming slightly embarrassed.

"You know you said earlier that I had obviously stolen this Tuxedo?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it belongs to Le Brun and he doesn't know I borrowed it. I need to get it back by midnight."

Napoleon looked at his partner. Illya was liberally coated from head to foot in dust, mortar and bits of cobweb.

"I think you should make a full confession. That's his shirt and tie too, isn't it?"

A reluctant nod.

Napoleon sighed.

"Right, well when we get back, I'll get Jane and Susie to look after Maria, while I give you a lesson in one of the most important arts of espionage."

"Oh, what would that be?"

"How to get captured, escape, rescue the damsel AND have a clean suit when you really need one."

"You can get this clean in half an hour?"

"Of course not, but I am Chief Enforcement Agent - we can just slip into Del Floria's and find some substitutes."

"I think these are made-to-measure. Le Brun will know the difference."

Napoleon smiled. He was, Illya knew, genuinely fond of the women who worked in Headquarters, including the married or otherwise unavailable ones. He also had no liking for a certain junior courier who tended to bully them.

"Le Brun is taking the jacket because he thinks he has a date. It's Celestine, you know, that brunette who works in Paris Section IV."

"So?"

"So, the last time I was in Paris, I told her she could do better. A lot better."

"Let me guess, over dinner, in some quiet little restaurant."

"True, but after I left she started seeing Du Bois from Research. They got married last week - I was in Rio at the time, but I sent a telegram."

"And no one's told Le Brun."

"Not yet. To be honest I think some of the ladies are rather looking forward to seeing him find out."

"I'm so glad you can fix Illya's problem," Maria interrupted "but what about mine? I can't spend the rest of my life being pressed by these maniacs!"

"Well, it may take a little longer, but I'm sure we can help you too."

"How? Do you think you've scared them off?" Maria seemed doubtful, but was looking at Napoleon much more warmly since he'd saved her from Thrush, or possibly from the spiders in the cellar.

"No, they won't be put off that easily, but we'll take you to a safe house and take care of you until they're dealt with."

"What do you mean, dealt with?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, that's when we blow their secret base up, just like in the movies," said Illya smiling mischievously at her.

Sitting there in his stolen, grimy tuxedo with smudges of dust on his face Illya looked like Oliver Twist's big brother, thought Solo. Illya was perfectly aware of the effect his seemingly-innocent looks had on women, and had no hesitation in exploiting it when he wanted to attract their attention. It usually worked, every bit as well as his partner's charm, or in this case, a great deal better.

"I hate to spoil your moment Cinderella, but we're back."

Illya tore his eyes from Maria to glare at Solo, before getting out of the car.

"I'll handle things here," said Napoleon "You take Maria to the safe house and get her settled in."

Illya nodded enthusiastically and moved round to the driver's door.

"Oh, and Illya, don't keep her up all night with your beautiful equations..."


End file.
